Turner's Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  This is only temporary. She’s not yours and you don’t want her to be. He toyed with a lock of the silk that was her hair and sighed.

  Why were women such trouble and why were they so soft?

  Emma spent the long day clinging to her saddle horn unable to anticipate the trail ahead. Cool air brushed her face. The sound of Scout’s hooves beat a comforting rhythm as he clomped over rock and padded through thick pine needles. During the afternoon the trail leveled enough to allow a moment to release her grip on the pommel and consider last night without fear her distraction might cause her to fall off the horse.

  She had slept in the same bed as a man. Did that mean she’d lain with him? In her terror, she’d clung and he had not sent her away. Instead, he had held her close and murmured comfort. She’d never before drawn comfort from a man. She had soothed wounded men, but not since she was a little girl had anyone eased her. Emma’s opinion of him changed last night. He showed a hidden side of gentle strength and compassion. He had almost made her feel loved.

  Ridiculous. She barely knew the man. But now she wanted to. He certainly knew something about her. That her mother was mad, for instance, and even that carefully guarded secret did not shake him. Could he be right that her feelings were not the beginnings of madness, but ordinary longings to escape the trap of her life?

  How many more hours before she could remove the bandage? The neck of her horse now inclined below her pommel. They headed down. He said they’d make the foot of the Tetons by evening. She wanted to see them.

  “Can you see the Tetons from here?” she asked.

  “Yup. They look close, but that’s a trick of the mountains. They’re a ways off.”

  “Can you describe them to me?”

  There was silence and she thought he would not oblige. Finally he spoke. “They look like jagged teeth raising straight from the plains. Rough rock already snow covered all blue and gray. Of all the mountains on the earth, I think these are the grandest. Not the highest or the meanest, but the most inspiring to the eye.”

  She could not keep the wistfulness from her voice. “I wish I could see them.”

  “I suspect they’ll be waiting on you tomorrow.”

  Doubt bubbled, despite the confidence in his tone.

  “Over to our left, there’s a waterfall, can you hear it?” Jake described the falls and later a gray jay that held a grasshopper in its beak. Several ground squirrels chased each other around the trunk of a lodgepole pine, their claws scratching the bark. That afternoon she saw the world though his eyes. In his words, she found his excitement at each new discovery and recognized his ability to note things invisible to her. He read game trails, signs of beaver now long gone and changes in the clouds overhead. Somewhere late in the day, hope returned.

  “If I regain my sight will you teach me to navigate?”

  She waited during the pause, now understanding the silence did not mean no, but only that he took longer to consider.

  “I could.”

  He’d given her something to anticipate. The tender feelings for him grew, seeming to swell within her like a warm breeze.

  When he drew the horses to a halt, she was surprised the day had passed. His saddle creaked as he dismounted and then he stood beside her, one hand on her thigh. She felt Scout swing his head around, preparing to bite, as he always did when a man got too close. That behavior had nearly sealed his doom at Fort Leavenworth. She was the only one who could get near him, let alone ride him. Jake swatted Scout in the face with something and her horse turned his attention forward once more.

  “Damn ornery brute,” he muttered, then he addressed her. “Come on, I’ll help you down.”

  She threw her leg over the horn, reached out for the man she could not see, but knew stood waiting to catch her and slipped from the saddle into his arms. He lowered her to the ground and held her a moment as she breathed the now familiar scent of herbs and buckskin that clung to him. Emma clasped her hands about his neck and tipped her head as if to look up at him, reluctant to move away.

  “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For telling me all those things, for describing the world and keeping me from being alone in the dark.”

  “I never talked so much in my life. I’m tuckered.”

  She smiled and let him slide away feeling a moment’s bereavement at his withdrawal. “Do you ever think what your life would be like if you hadn’t jumped on that barge?”

  The creak of his saddle told her he was removing the tack from Duchess. “I’d be married. I’d have children and I’d be dead inside.”

  She thought of her mother and how much she hated her marriage. Emma understood the trap of marriage, but she never considered it could also be so for a man.

  “But men can come and go as they please. They don’t have to raise the children or do the laundry. How would you be trapped?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it, except to say I hated clerking for my father. I hated living indoors where the only interesting things happened in the pages of a book. I needed to see something, do something for myself. If I got married I never would have seen those Tetons. Marriage is just as much a leg-lock for a man as a woman.”

  “A leg-lock?”

  “It’s a trap. A critter steps in the trap and the metal teeth tear into his leg. Then he either dies or he chews off his foot to escape.”

  She pressed a hand over her heart. “How dreadful.”

  “That’s marriage. You’re walking along and, snap, you never see it coming. Then the trap has you. You’re caught.”

  “Then why do men propose?”

  “Don’t know, custom, maybe. Best for raising kids, maybe, but it’s sure hell on those with wanderlust.”

  “Better three free feet then trapped with four?” she asked.

  “Now you got it.”

  Another bundle of gear hit the earth beside her. He moved to her saddle and bags. She held Scout’s head to prevent him from taking another shot at Jake. The task complete, Jake helped her settle to rest against a saddle.

  “How long until I can take this off?”

  “Full dark. That will be after supper.”

  She sat idle as he rustled in his bag. Next came the knocking sound of flint striking steel as he lit the fire. The smell of smoke marked his success. A familiar tearing noise reminded her of the sound of plucking a chicken. Then she remembered the quail he’d shot before the snowfield.

  “I think I can pluck those birds,” she said.

  He pressed them into her hands. With something useful to do, she no longer felt like such a burden. That was the measure of things. One needed a purpose. Even with her father there had always been work, though he’d usually found it lacking.

  Her fingers swept over the carcass and found it clean. She grasped the second bird and began ripping away the feathers.

  “Sun’s setting,” he said.

  She gave a great sigh. Just a few minutes now. He took the last plucked bird. Soon the aroma of roasting fowl reached her and her stomach gave another growl. He chuckled.

  “That belly of yours might give away our position.”

  She smiled. After a time he pressed the stake holding the roasted quail into her hand. The meal seemed to take forever, as things do when you are anxious for them to be finished. At last he led her to the stream, where they knelt as he helped her wash the grease from her fingers. His big hands enveloped hers, warm against cold water. His familiar scent surrounded her, bringing her a comfort that came without words.

  “Now I want you to keep your eyes shut until I tell you. Things will be blurry at first and it’s good and dark now, so you won’t see much in any case. Understand?”

  She nodded and waited, holding her breath as he touched the knot imprisoning her eyes. Slowly the buckskin fell away. She pressed her lids closed and waited until nothing touched her skin but the night breeze. Panic broke in her belly and she squeezed her eyes closed tight, suddenly afraid to open t
hem. As long as she kept them closed, there was a possibility of sight. If she opened them and could not see—what then?

  “All right,” he urged.

  She drew a breath and opened her eyes. Darkness.

  Emma blinked and turned toward Jake. His face seemed half-orange and very blurry. The fire. She turned toward the flame some twenty feet off and he grasped her chin.

  “Look this way first. Can you see me, Emma?”

  She blinked and his features took shape. Another blink and she read the concern etched on his face.

  “Yes!” She threw herself forward landing in his arms.

  He circled her in a warm embrace as she wept against the solid comfort of his chest. Lifting her chin, she stared at him. His expression changed. The joyfulness of a moment earlier dissolved into a look of wanton desire and she read every nuance. His embrace no longer comforted, it demanded and she knew he would kiss her.

  His lips descended pressing hard to hers. A rush of pleasure swept through her, stealing her breath. Her breasts ached in a way she’d never experienced and she pressed herself to him. The pounding of his heart matched the frantic rhythm of her own. She opened her mouth at the steady insistence of his lips. He hesitated and then pushed her away.

  Startled, she fell back onto her hands. He leaped to his feet, scowling down at her as if she were suddenly an enemy.

  “Jake?”

  “Bear trap,” he muttered, then to her. “I only—why’d you throw yourself at me?”

  “I—I didn’t.” Had she? Perhaps she had. She’d certainly hugged him. But the kiss. Oh my, it was her first kiss and the man she’d chosen had just finished telling her he’d rather chew off his hand than offer it in marriage.

  “Don’t do it again. Understand?”

  She shook her head, then nodded, not knowing what was correct as she drew herself tentatively to her feet.

  “Can you see me now?” he asked.

  “Perfectly.”

  “Good.”

  She took a step forward and he retreated. She halted. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “You can thank me by keeping your distance and setting your blanket across the fire.”

  Emma bit her lip. Something between them had broken. She wanted it fixed. Last night he held her tenderly. Now he eyed her as if she were a coiled rattlesnake.

  “I didn’t mean to kiss you. Please don’t be angry.”

  He pulled off his hat and dragged his fingers through his thick hair. “I know you didn’t. We best get to bed. We’ve got the Tetons tomorrow.”

  He turned away and she followed him to the fire, admiring every log. A few minutes ago she would have given anything to regain her sight. Now she had her vision and all she wanted was to restore the warmth between them that had died by that little stream.

  Chapter Six

  Over the next week the tension between them continued to radiate like heat from a Franklin stove. Emma rode silently behind him trying to draw no notice. This was a skill she’d perfected while living with her father. At times she thought she’d grown invisible, until he’d bark an order. She spoke only in reply and stayed all questions when he paused each midday to consult a watch and compass. Often he used a metal eyepiece to study the horizon, and then scratched in his journal. He paused at rivers and streams to check the direction of their flow.

  He was right about the Tetons. They were majestic. But after crossing them, Emma decided that mountains are best enjoyed from a distance.

  He shot two deer and took the time to teach Emma the process of scraping and soaking the leather. At first she thought his gesture an effort at mending fences until she realized he had enlisted her help in the most strenuous, vilest job of trapping—tanning hides. Again she was valued only for the work she produced.

  She cleaned the deer hides on both sides, while he prepared the lion, leaving the hair and head with the vicious upper jaw including fangs, but removing her brain. Finally, he sewed yellow glass beads into the place where the eyes once glowed, draped the head over his own and tied the cat’s arms about his neck.

  “Like it?” he asked.

  She cringed. “It’s barbaric.”

  “Too bad, ’cause this one is yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “You killed it. It’s your hide.”

  “I’m not wearing that creature on my head.”

  He laughed and returned to the buckskin “Some tribes believe you take a piece of the soul of the animal you kill and it becomes a part of you.”

  Emma could think of no animal she would rather resemble that the bravest of the beasts. She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. “So I have the courage of a lion now?”

  “Lioness.” He grinned, then extended the hideous thing.

  It was the first act of kindness he’d shown her since their kiss. Had he offered her a dead lizard she would have gladly taken it. Her fingers grasped the hide, hoping this marked a new beginning, for she could not stand his rejection. She draped the skin over her shoulders, noting the satisfaction in his eyes, but refused to wear the hood up, leaving the gruesome lion head flopping on her back.

  “We’ll be on the Great Salt Lake by week’s end,” he said. “Then head across the desert.”

  She’d never been in a desert but found the prospect filled her with disquiet. “What is beyond the desert?”

  “Don’t know exactly. Mountains, eventually.”

  He gave her an honest answer, but this only served to remind her that the maps stopped here. She had seen her father’s charts including the only two viable passes over the Rocky Mountains. Union Pass, through which she had crossed with Jake, and South Pass. Her father placed himself at the base of South Pass knowing that all trappers leaving the fertile Green River Valley would arrive on his doorstep. But west of the Salt Lake? Then there was a great blank space until the Pacific coast. What lay between? Certainly nothing inviting enough to lure trappers into the desert. What would prompt Jake to go there? She wondered if he worked for one of the fur companies. They always searched for new hunting territory. Perhaps Jake was some kind of scout. No one had ever gone from the Rockies to the Pacific on this track or at least none who tried had returned. Tomorrow, she would step off the map and into that great void. What would they find there?

  That evening he returned to his journal attempting a rough sketch of the landscape before them and cursing loud and often.

  “Give it to me,” she said.

  He hesitated. “Why?”

  “Because I can render a likeness better than you.”

  He faltered a moment and then handed over a smaller blank journal. He didn’t trust her with his main log, but did seem willing to include her. She smiled at that. Perhaps she’d made some small progress.

  “Draw that range of mountains.”

  She lifted the pencil and began. Jake sat quietly behind her until she lowered the journal.

  “Damnation. That looks just right.”

  She smiled at the obvious excitement in his voice. “Thank you.”

  “From now on, you do the drawings. I’ll tell you what to sketch.”

  “All right.” She flipped the cover closed and extended the book.

  “Keep it. You’ll be drawing every day, now.”

  “Illustrations for your novel?” she had promised not to pry and her attempt at fishing yielded no catch. She tucked the journal in her bag.

  The next day, when Jake stopped to take readings, Emma pulled out her sketchbook, as she now thought of it, and drew an interesting blue flower, then she broke off the stem and pressed the specimen between the pages. By the next day, she had a sketch of a shaggy mountain goat on a crag with two babies and one of Jake with his back to her as he stood beside Duchess.

  By afternoon she glimpsed the shores of the Great Salt Lake. The immensity of the water, stretching out before her, brought her to silent contemplation. A sense of awe spread through her. Suddenly, she felt like the luckiest woman alive, to see such a wond
er. For the first time in her life she felt free. Wanting the experience to last, she drew out her sketchbook. Her pencil flew across the double page spread before her as he drew his horse alongside.

  “Damn good.”

  “But it’s not. It’s so small. It doesn’t begin to capture the color or glory of this lake.”

  “You’re right. For that you have to be here.”

  She gazed at him as his glance swept the vista before them. He drew a great breath and she knew that he experienced it, too. In that instant, she understood why men faced grizzly bears and froze half the winter. It was to see the grandeur of places like this.

  “It’s amazing,” she said.

  He nodded, his gaze on the glittering surface of the lake. “The hand of God.”

  She wanted to touch him, to take his hand, seal their connection, but she dared not. Things were finally better between them and she would not risk that.

  He glanced back at the ridgeline. “I’m gonna miss them. The desert is nothing compared to mountains. Hard traveling, no game and deadly, like hell compared to heaven.”

  “How long will it take to cross?” she asked, quelling the fear that tugged down deep. Jake may not trust her, but she trusted him enough to follow him into the desert.

  He sighed. “Days and days. This route has never been tried. Jedediah Smith crossed considerable south along the Colorado River on the way out and then some two hundred mile south of us on the return. Lewis and Clark were all the way up in Oregon Territory. This way doesn’t follow any river. It’s direct, barren and untried. We’ll carry enough water for several days.” He turned, regarding her with a serious expression and a gripping uncertainty clenched her belly. “If we find none on the journey, we won’t make it.”

  “But we can carry extra. You have plenty of water skins.”

  He smiled. “And we’ll fill them all, but do you know how much we need to keep three horses, a mule and ourselves watered for a week?”

  The chill danced along her spine. More than they could possibly manage. She stared out at the lake of undrinkable salt water and realized they could very likely die in the wasteland beyond.